


The Language of Flowers

by musicalfreak86



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:34:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2650514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicalfreak86/pseuds/musicalfreak86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fear can still be stifling, even with the dangers of the Rebellion over. Effie learns the hard way that sometimes the only way to conquer your fears is to face them head on.<br/>(Old fic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Tumblr Hayffie Challenge #31: The language of flowers. 
> 
> I do not own the Hunger Games.

She refuses to set foot in the Meadow.

As much as Haymitch tries to tell her that it's alright, that she should face her fears and simply go, she just can't make herself do it.

She knows that he probably thinks her stupid for being afraid of such a large area of the place she now calls home. But she can't help it.

When she thinks of the Meadow, she can't help but think of all the dead that are buried underneath it.

He tells her that you can't even tell that the graves are there anymore. Grass and flowers and other plants have grown up so that you can't even tell that the earth was ever disturbed.

But she knows they are there. She knows, and she can't keep her mind off of it.

At night, she has nightmares that the dead will rise from the ground and come after her. She believes that their deaths are her fault, because she was involved in the horrors of the Reapings and the Games. Haymitch tells her every day that the deaths were not her fault, they were President Snow's fault. But she can't believe him.

She wishes she weren't afraid. It looks like such a beautiful, peaceful place. The way the flowers grow all over it, a sea of colors.

But then she remembers how it looked when she first arrived in Twelve. With its mounds of overturned dirt and uneven ground. The District still reeked of ash and decay, and it took her a long time to adjust to even living there.

Her nightmares have gotten better. He tells her that every morning when they wake up. He smiles and jokes and tells her that she only tried to knock him out once in her sleep this time. She gives him a weak smile in return, never telling him just how much she is still plagued by the nightmares.

Then one morning, he wakes her earlier than even she gets up naturally. This takes her by surprise, because she is usually the one waking him up.

But he tells her to get up and get dressed. He says he has a surprise for her.

She is wary, but she does as she is told. When she comes downstairs, he shoves a picnic basket into her arms and blindfolds her. She doesn't like it. It reminds her too much of her time in the Capitol prison during the Rebellion.

But he is there, his arm linked through hers, his steady, strong hand pressed against the small of her back. She wants to protest several times, but it is rare that he does something like this, and now that it is happening, she does not want to discourage him.

They walk for what seems like forever, and finally they stop.

He tells her to breathe deeply. He doesn't take her blindfold off. He tells her to feel with her other senses.

She listens to the gentle breeze. She feels the brush of grass against her bare legs. She inhales deeply and smells the beautiful scent of flowers.

_The scent of flowers._

The picnic basket falls from her arms, but she barely notices. With a trembling hand, she reaches up and removes the blindfold from her eyes.

She is standing in the middle of the Meadow.

She feels a scream building inside her, but before it can be released, Haymitch is there, holding her tightly, pressing her face against his shirt. Instead of screaming, she closes her eyes tightly and presses her face into his shirt. Suddenly, she is sobbing.

She asks him through shuddering breaths how he could bring her here. How could he, when he knows she still has nightmares about this place. She squeezes her eyes as tightly as possible and holds her breath, trying to block out all feelings coming from the place. But she can't. It's as though the ground is electrically charged. She can feel how many people died in the District, and how many of them are lying just feet below where they stand.

Haymitch rubs her back, trying to soothe her trembling. He leans down and whispers in her ear. He tells her that she has to face her fears, and that he wants to show her some things.

Slowly, as scared as she is, she allows him to coax her out from his shirt. She opens her eyes, but keeps a death grip on his arm, ready at any moment to retreat back into his embrace.

He leads her slowly around the Meadow. He points out plants that are coming through the earth. He points out animals that are beginning to make their homes here. He tries to avoid giving her a circle of life talk, but then he reaches the flowers.

There are huge patches of different colored flowers everywhere throughout the Meadow. He points to each different type and tells her the name. She is surprised by his extensive knowledge of the flora, and he tells her that one has to find some way to come to terms with what frightens them.

And then she realizes that he is afraid too. He thinks of what happened in the District just as much as she does, and probably more. But he has found his own way to deal with the pain. And she must find hers too.

They come to a patch of pink flowers, and here, she sinks to her knees. The tears come unexpectedly, fast and hot. She reaches down and clutches at the earth, not caring that she is dirtying her hands and chipping her fingernails.

She cries that she is sorry. Sorry that she took so long to realize that she was wrong. That her Capitol was wrong. Sorry that what happened to them happened. Sorry that there had to be an Uprising, a Rebellion. Sorry that for so many years she took their children from them, never to be seen again.

She leans her forehead down into the earth and weeps for the lives that were not spared. Weeps for her own life, when she should have died in their place. Weeps for the innocence lost, and for all the people who will never get to see the new beginning.

He lets her be for a while, knowing that she has to come to terms with her fears and guilt on her own. But after she begins to calm down, he kneels next to her and touches her shoulder. He whispers her name, and helps her up from the ground. She is covered in dirt, something he never expected from his Effie. He brushes some off of her dress and pulls her against him.

They lie in the Meadow amongst the flowers for the better part of the day. They shed tears, share stories, and laugh until the sun begins to set. In the twilight, a breeze picks up, lifting flower petals from the ground and pulling them into a whirlwind of color over their heads. The fireflies begin to come out, and the light plays across their faces.

He knows that she is still afraid. He is too. He knows that they will both continue to be plagued with nightmares, probably for the rest of their lives. Two people can't go through what they have without some consequences.

But with good memories and each other, he thinks that they can begin to recover.


End file.
